


Four Of A Kind

by TriaKane



Series: Designated Hitter [5]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Character from "Las Vegas", F/M, Gambling, OFC is telepathic immortal, Oral Sex, Rimming, charity - Freeform, extravagance, still getting to know each other, tattoo appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriaKane/pseuds/TriaKane
Summary: Lyn and Eliot's adventure takes them to Las Vegas.
Relationships: Eliot Spencer/OFC
Series: Designated Hitter [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15392
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Four Of A Kind

**Author's Note:**

> I used the fictional hotel from the show Las Vegas, as well as the character of Samantha Marquez, the casino host. All the casino info is supposition; I definitely don’t have any first hand knowledge about being a high roller. I’ll apologize in advance for borrowing Marilyn and Frank; I’ve always had a fascination with her. The timeline works: Marilyn was at the Paris Ball that year, and she did take off 18-months then to focus on her marriage. Frank was divorced during this time, living and working in Vegas.
> 
> CK's tats are all guesses that just work for me and the story.

With a last glance in the rear-view mirror, we waved goodbye to Miss Ida and set off for Las Vegas. I set my GPS and we made good time, cruising south on Las Vegas Boulevard hours later. 

“Any hotel in particular?” Eliot asked when we stopped at a light.

“You choose,” I said, lost in my memories as he continued driving.

In the summer of 1957, I’d moved to Las Vegas after a fateful meeting at the Paris Ball in New York at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Anyone who was anyone in New York society, as well as stars from stage and screen, attended; I’d been lucky enough to be escorted by a rich handsome, yet handsy, young man. 

I’d escaped to the restroom for a moment of two of peace when a beautiful woman entered. She was a little tipsy, but she steadied herself on the counter and caught my eye in the mirror. After complimenting me on my Balenciaga gown, Marilyn Monroe and I had struck up a conversation about men and various other things. 

Having recently returned to the states after filming _The Prince and the Showgirl_ in England, Marilyn confided that she was taking a break from acting to focus on her marriage to Arthur Miller. She mentioned Las Vegas and how warm and exciting it was, and after the long winter in New York, I was eager for a change. We never met again, but I’ll always remember her enthusiasm and hopefulness. 

When I came to Las Vegas in the fall of 1957, I decided not to buy a home. It was still difficult, if not impossible, for a woman to buy a house on her own, and I wasn’t completely sure how I would like the desert city. I stayed at various hotels in the first six months, Sahara, Flamingo, Dunes, Riviera, Tropicana, but it was the Sands Hotel that I enjoyed the most.

The hotel was a magnet for the Hollywood elite, and I spent many nights dancing, drinking and gambling with some of the most famous people of that time. One in particular was Frank Sinatra. 

He was very charismatic, and people were drawn to him; I tried to keep my distance, unwilling to get swept into his orbit. Eventually I gave in, unable to keep resisting his persuasive offers and grand gestures, and of course, his blue eyes. 

Trying to keep it casual, I opted for a lunch date. In response, he rented out an entire restaurant for the afternoon. We drank too much, we laughed a lot, we danced, and he sang for me. It was a magical afternoon, and for a short time, we were involved romantically. In the end, my immortality was the reason our relationship ended. The attention and publicity surrounding him was more than I was willing to deal with, and my privacy was very precious to me.

I stayed on in Las Vegas at the Sands until 1960 when Frank and his Rat Pack filmed _Ocean’s 11_ at the hotel. In the fifty years since leaving, I’d only been back once, November 1996, when the hotel was demolished. 

“How ‘bout here?” Eliot asked, pulling me from my revelry.

I looked up at the towering Montecito Resort and Casino and then back at Eliot, nodding.

Even though I loathed doing it, I checked my sword case along with our bags with the valet, tipping him heavily in hopes I wouldn’t have to hunt him, or the entire staff of the hotel, down if something happened to my swords. If Eliot noticed my uneasiness, he didn’t say anything, and we made our way inside the cool lobby of the upscale hotel and casino.

Walking passed the rows of slot machines, we made our way to the roulette tables to place Miss Ida’s bet. There were several active tables, and I randomly chose one with a $20 limit.

When the current round was over, I laid the bill on ‘Red’ and the croupier exchanged it for the requisite chip. Eliot leaned passed me and placed a similar bet on ‘7’, which was a red number. And, feeling a little contrary, I placed my own bet on ‘2’, which was a black number. 

Ready to begin, the croupier spun the wheel and sent the ball in the opposite direction. I felt Eliot’s excitement as we waited expectantly. Realistically our odds were slim, but there was always a chance, that’s why it’s called gambling.

“Black 20!” the croupier called, and we shrugged as he swept the losing bets off the table.

“More roulette?” Eliot asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

Looking around, he gestured to other tables and we walked around to see the other options.

“Blackjack?” he asked.

I was tempted but saw Eliot looking at another game.

“Want to try Craps?” I asked.

He shrugged and we stepped closer to watch the action. 

After a few minutes, I leaned close and whispered, “Gotta watch out for that ‘Don’t Come’ line.”

Chuckling, he said, “Yeah, I prefer the ‘Come’ line.”

“Especially if you’re the shooter.”

We laughed a little too loudly and decided Craps wasn’t our game.

Continuing our stroll around the tables, I noticed several different types of poker and felt Eliot’s interest. 

“Poker?” I suggested.

He leaned close and whispered, “I poked her this mornin’, but I’ll do it again if you say please.”

I shook my head and laughed at his playfulness. 

“Sure,” he said, gesturing to the tables in front of us. “We can play.”

“So many different kinds,” I said, looking around. “What kind?”

“How ‘bout Texas Hold ‘Em?” he suggested. 

I felt something unusual from him, but it wasn’t specific, so I decided to fish.

“Care to make a wager?” I asked.

“A bet?” he said, clearly interested. “What’re the stakes?”

“Whoever wins the most in an hour decides what we do next.”

He nodded his head. “What’s the buy in?”

I wasn’t sure how much money he had access to, so I conservatively said, “How about $500?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head, “let’s make it really interesting. $5000.”

I tried to contain my surprise but nodded in agreement.

***

After securing our funds, we sought out the high limit Texas Hold ‘Em tables, choosing to sit at different tables to keep our bet interesting.

“Hello gentlemen,” I said, greeting the three men sitting at my table. 

While I organized my chips and waited for the current hand to finish, I studied them covertly. I did have the advantage of hearing their thoughts, but I couldn’t always rely on that ability in a negotiation. And while not a typical business negotiation, it still required using every advantage at my disposal.

As the hour progressed, I learned my opponents tells and slowly increased my chip stack. One man had quit after losing a large hand to me, another was playing very tight, and the third relied on trying to bluff me at every turn.

Behind me, I heard Eliot finish and knew my hour was almost up. Out of my periphery I saw him waiting, but I couldn’t spare him a thought. This hand was down to me and the bluffer and there was over $6000 in the pot.

The flop had revealed the queen of clubs, 3 of diamonds and the 9 of diamonds. I was happy to have a pair of 9s, having been dealt the 9 and 10 of hearts. I could tell bluffer was pleased as well and wagered that he had pocket diamonds. 

The turn card was another diamond, the 10 this time. I now had 2 pair, but in all likelihood, bluffer was holding a flush. I shifted in my seat and bit my lip, pretending to stifle a smile, bluffing a bit myself. 

Bluff bet conservatively, a third of the pot, $2000, testing the strength of my hand. I had plenty of chips left and had already invested a good amount into the pot. Checking my cards, I hoped I conveyed insecurity, and I knew I’d succeeded when he leaned back a fraction.

Shrugging, I went ahead and pushed in my $2000.

The dealer flipped over the river card: 9 of spades. 

I forced myself to keep breathing. Bluffer likely had a flush, but I had a full house. 

Lifting a stack of chips, he pretended to count, stacking and restacking, as if trying to decide. He wanted to slow play me, but I was getting tired of his antics and was ready to see how well Eliot had done. In all honesty, it didn’t matter whether Eliot or I won; anything he wanted to do was fine with me.

Deciding, bluffer added his chips to the pot for a bet of $7500. 

I let out a breath and studied his remaining stack. He had more chips than I did, but not by much. 

“All in,” I said, shoving my stack forward.

Bluffer seemed surprised that I’d acted so quickly. Taking my move as a last, desperate bluff, he shoved his remaining stack in and tossed out his hole cards, confident in his hand.

King and queen of diamonds. King high flush.

I flipped my first hole card, 9 of hearts. I was showing three of a kind. 

Then even more slowly I flipped my last card.

Bluffer realized his mistake immediately and sighed resignedly.

“Good hand,” he said, standing and holding out his hand to me. 

Shaking it, I replied, “Just lucky.”

After I cashed out, Eliot and I compared our winnings. He’d ended up with slightly over seventeen grand, but my twenty-two grand left me in control of our plans.

“So, what’re we doing?” Eliot asked, and I could tell he was genuinely curious.

My mind raced with possibilities, but his nearness and excitement made me feel slightly tipsy.

“For starters, let’s get the best suite they have.”

He nodded and the playfulness I’d felt from him earlier had returned.

We made our way to the front desk.

“Next, please,” a dark-haired woman called. “What can I help you with?”

“We’d like your best suite for the night.”

She typed on her keyboard for a minute, then looked up and said snidely, “All of our Executive Suites are $15,000 a night.”

Irritation raced through me at her tone and assumptions. I wasn’t sure if it was my thought or Eliot’s, but as if they synced, we simultaneously placed our casino vouchers on the counter, and I said, “Then we’ll take it for two nights.”

The look of surprise on her face was priceless, but before she could formulate a response, a sharply dressed woman stepped beside her.

“I’ve got this, Rachel,” she said, and the rude agent walked away. “Welcome to the Montecito, I’m Samantha Marquez, your casino host.” She held out a business card which I took. “I noticed the two of you were very lucky today at the poker tables, and we’d like to comp your room. And hopefully entice you to play some more.”

“Samantha,” I started, “we’d love to have a comped room, but we’ve got our hearts set on one of the Executive Suites. And we most definitely will play more this evening.”

Eliot chuckled softly beside me, nudging his hip with mine.

“We can do that, Miss...”

“O’Neil, Lynae O’Neil.”

She looked at Eliot expectantly, but he just smiled benignly. 

“Okay,” she said, tapping on the keyboard again. “I’ve got your keycards, let me show you up. Do you have bags?”

Eliot handed her the valet ticket which she handed off to a waiting bellman, then she gestured towards a bank of elevators nearest the front desk.

Once inside, she waved the key card across the reader, then pushed ‘42’.

“Only two elevators service the suite floors, 39 to 42. A keycard is needed to access those floors.” She handed us each one and kept a third for herself.

On our floor, Samantha continued, “On this floor there are four suites, and here is yours.” She gestured to the door to the left, waved the keycard across the reader and the door clicked softly. Pushing the door open, she waited for us to enter. 

I’d stayed in grand hotels and suites before but this, like most things in Las Vegas, was over the top. 

The floor to ceiling windows flooded the room with light, which bounced around the room in all the mirrors and gleaming glass tables. The floors were white marble except where carpet or hard wood defined specific areas—a half bath, full kitchen, dining table with 6 chairs, a red baby grand piano and an intimate sitting area congregated around a gas fireplace. A large bedroom was set off to the side with the same floor to ceiling windows. The master bath was spa-like, with a vanity on either side, a double Jacuzzi tub in the middle of the room and behind it, a large Roman shower with a bench seat.

When the doorbell chimed, Samantha admitted the bellman and he carried the luggage into the bedroom. Eliot tipped him while I turned to Samantha.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked. “Dinner reservations? Reserved seats at one of the poker tables? Show tickets?”

I looked at Eliot, but he shrugged.

“I have your card, Samantha. I’ll let you know.”

“Very good,” she said, as she followed the bellboy out, the door closing soundlessly behind them. 

I flipped the safety latch on the door and went into the bedroom to check my swords; everything was good, and I could relax.

Looking up, I saw that Eliot had followed me to the bedroom and was leaning against the door jam. 

“So,” I said.

“So...”

“We’re still doing whatever I want today?”

He scratched his chin. “You get the whole day?”

“Yup,” I said with a wink, kicking off my high heels.

Shrugging, he said, “Works for me. Now what?”

“I think I’m gonna take a shower, you wanna...” I thumbed towards the bathroom.

He smiled knowingly and gestured for me to lead the way. 

***

After pulling my toiletry bag from my suitcase, I set the shampoo and body wash bottles on the floor of the Roman shower and started the water. Reaching behind me to unzip my skirt, I stopped when I felt Eliot’s nimble fingers already there. He slid the skirt over my hips and down my legs, dropping a kiss on one hip along the way. I turned towards him and he untied the knot I’d put in his burgundy pearl snap shirt when I’d borrowed it. Unknotted, he pulled the hem apart and the snaps popped open like little fireworks. He slid the shirt off and unclasped my bra, sliding it off and tossing both in the vicinity of the vanity.

I stepped into the shower and under the spray, all the while keeping my eyes on Eliot as he undressed. He pulled both shirts over his head, then sat on the edge of the tub and pulled off his boots and socks. I was mesmerized by the play of muscles in his shoulders and back, and when he stood, he realized I’d been staring. I heard his chuckle as he unzipped his jeans and they dropped to the floor and I realized he hadn’t been wearing anything underneath.

Stepping into the shower, he grinned the entire time.

I took a step back let him stand under the spray, watching the water cascade down his back. Lathering up my hands, I reached for his shoulders, slowly massaging them before sliding down his arms, squeezing his biceps. 

Leaning back against me, Eliot let my hands slid across his chest, and I paused to pinch his nipples before sliding lower. The water washed away the soap, but my hands continued to glide down his stomach until I felt his arousal, then slid my hands around his hips and squeezed his ass. 

Turning, he tried push me against the wall, but I did a double step and spun him around so he was backed up against the wall.

“I wasn’t done yet,” I said against his lips. “Turn around.”

He slowly turned as I reached for more soap. I started at his shoulders again, gently massaging as I went, the soap letting my hands glide effortlessly down his strong back, over his ass and between his cheeks. He tensed but I didn’t linger. Kneeling, I continued down his legs and over his tattooed calves.

“Turn around,” I directed.

Turning, his smile was all knowing, as were his thoughts, and something inside made me want to surprise him. 

My hands, still soapy, made the return trip up the front of his legs. His thighs tensed as I moved higher and his cock bobbed in front of me, but I didn’t take it in my hands, instead, I let it rub against my lips and cheek. 

Standing, I finished soaping his stomach, ribs, across his nipples and then back over his shoulders and down his arms. I pushed him back under the spray and retraced the path my hands had taken down, and then with a nudge of his hip, he turned so I could complete the task on his back side. 

When I was satisfied the soap was gone, I bodily pushed him against the wall, pressing up tight against his back.

“Raise your hands,” I ordered.

He complied, and my hands followed his arms up until I gripped his wrists.

“Do I need to restrain you?” I asked against the back of his neck.

I felt a trickle of uncertainty run through him but he linked his fingers by way of acquiescence. 

“My day, my way?” I confirmed.

“Your day, your way,” he said, but his thoughts betrayed him. It would be my way until something changed and he wanted it to be his, or our, way. 

“What’s your safe word?” I asked, reminiscent of the rough car sex we’d had days ago.

I thought he was going to say ‘tequila’ but instead he said, “Poker.”

Smiling against his back, I said, “Good. Don’t move.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his southern drawl pronounced.

I shifted the water spray until it hit the bench seat beside us and stepped back to study him. With his arms raised above his head, his shoulders broadened, and his waist leaned out; his body took on a swimmer’s form. 

The muscles in his back rippled under my scrutiny but I wasn’t done looking at him; I didn’t think I would tire of it any time soon. His skin had darkened under the hot water, and the golden honey tone was only intensified. My gaze dropped lower. He had a nicely shaped ass, and his thighs were thick and firm. From his position leaning against the wall, his calves were taut, and I studied the tattoos again. 

The wolf was black and white with varying shades of gray. It was sitting with the pale moon behind its head. The only other color was the blue of its eyes. 

The eagle was sitting on a branch, its wings tucked against its side, looking over its shoulder. Clutched in one of its claws was an American flag, and in the other a white flower. Given the round edges and distinctive center, plus what I’d learned about Eliot’s mother being from Louisiana, I guessed it was a magnolia.

Running my eyes back up his still form, I was filled with all sorts of ideas about surprising and shocking him. Then quite suddenly I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

Stepping close once again, I blew lightly against his neck, then down his spine. He didn’t move, bit tiny goosebumps raised on his arms. Starting at his hips, I trailed my fingernails up his sides, all the way up his ribcage, and I felt him tense. 

Reaching around him, I ran my fingernails down his stomach, stopping short at his pubic hair and he groaned softly in frustration.

“Are you thinking about it? Imagining it?” I asked hotly against his shoulder before using my tongue to draw a circle on his skin.

His body radiated heat against mine as his thoughts filled me.

“Spread your legs,” I said softly.

Keeping my hands on his hips, I dropped to my knees behind him as I waited for him to comply. I ran my hands down his thighs, feeling the solidness of his muscles. Cupping his balls with one hand, I gripped his cock with the other, stroking slowly and steadily. 

“Mmm... feels good,” I said against the base of his spine.

He trembled minutely and I stroked him a few more times before easing off; I had other things in mind.

Slowly I released him and slid my hands around his hips, using my thumbs to part his ass cheeks. I felt him tense but two seconds later, I felt him relax. 

His puckered opening quivered under my gaze; I blew against it, and it quivered again. Leaning in, I tickled the opening with the tip of my tongue and heard him make an indistinguishable sound.

Changing my tactics, I moved lower, teasing his perineum with steady strokes on my tongue. I felt the muscles in his hips bunch under my grip but kept up my actions. 

I shifted my grip to free my left hand so I could cradle his balls and stroke his perineum, while moving my mouth higher to focus on his puckered opening. 

He groaned loudly as I tongue fucked the little hole, his body swaying unconsciously. Releasing his balls in my left hand, I reached further between his legs until I could grip his cock. I had an awkward grip on it, but it didn’t seem to matter. Even though his thoughts were jumble, I knew he was enjoying my activities and was close to finishing.

I wasn’t quite ready to end my control over him, so I slowed my actions and released him. His groan of frustration made me laugh to myself, but I didn’t waste too many thoughts on that before commanding him to turn around.

He quickly obeyed, but when his hands dropped to his sides, I reminded him that I was in charge, even if just for the moment.

“Hands up,” I said as his cock bobbed in my face. “And spread your legs.”

His eyes met mine and he grinned crookedly before raising his arms above his head.

I quickly took his cock in my hand and guided it into my mouth, alternating stroking and sucking, while I slipped a hand between his legs and pressed against his opening. His body trembled when I released his cock from my hand and took him fully in my mouth, my tongue stroking the underside of his cock. 

As the tip of my index finger penetrated him, he groaned loudly, and my body thudded in response. I slid my free hand between my legs and rubbed my clit, not wanting to be left behind when he came.

Shallowly finger fucking his little hole, I felt his body tense and his cock harden ever so slightly in my mouth.

“Fuck!” he called out, his voice reverberating in the shower.

His release sent me over the edge, and I was coming as I took his cock deep in my throat as he came, shuddering. I rode out my orgasm against him, steadying both of us.

Eventually, I leaded back and looked up at him. He was breathing heavily, and his body was still racked with residual tremors. 

“When my legs stop shakin’,” he said breathlessly, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna see stars.”

I laughed throatily and squeezed my thighs in anticipation.

***

Hours later, I was in the elevator on my way down to meet Eliot at the Mystique bar. Having gone our separate ways late in the afternoon, Eliot had insisted on making our dinner reservations, and I wanted to stop in the hotel salon to have my hair styled before spending a little more of our winnings on an outfit from the hotel boutique. I knew he planned to visit the men’s store, and I was curious to see what he’d chosen.

Entering the bar, I saw him before he saw me. He was standing in profile, but I recognized his hair and the shape of his body; his choice of clothes was throwing me off. 

Turning towards me, I stopped and took a long look. He’d chosen an all-black look (pants, shirt and tie) except for his dinner jacket which was a dark burgundy paisley; it was so unlike anything I’d seen him in so far, and yet he wore it astonishingly well. 

Seeing me standing in the entryway, he smiled broadly and made a little motion with his finger, indicating he wanted me to turn around. 

Happy to oblige, I shifted my weight to one leg and took a half step back. The move caused the slit in the front of the long black dress to part from my Versace black strappy heels to well passed mid-thigh, showing the bottom edge of the thigh high stockings I’d chosen. The bodice of the dress was fitted, and the fabric shimmered in the light. It had a high neckline but left my shoulders and arms bare, and large rhinestone earrings dangled from my earlobes. I wore no other jewelry.

Slowly I turned in place, revealing a spiderweb of straps crisscrossing my back before the dress ended dangerously low. To emphasize the detailed back of the dress, I’d had the hairdresser put my hair up, turning my unruly waves into ringlets. The hair style was out of my comfort zone by about a million miles, but it was Vegas, after all.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Eliot put a hand on his chest and dip his knees. It was the sweetest non-verbal compliment ever. I turned and slowly walked towards him, watching him watch me. I felt his eyes rake up and down my body, and I flushed with excitement.

“Damn,” he said when I reached him.

“Damn, yourself,” I replied.

He chuckled and gestured to the jacket. “I wasn’t sure, but...” 

“Looks good,” I said, running a hand along his lapel. “Although your tie needs a little straightening.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, reaching for it. “Can never quite...”

Setting my small black clutch on the bar, I pushed his hands away and untied the bowtie. 

“First,” I said, “you cross it like this, then tie the long end around the short. Then make a bow and pull this around. Then fold the long end and push it behind. And straighten it.” I dropped my hands and said, “And there you go.”

He reached up to touch the newly tied bowtie and grinned at me. “Thanks.”

I picked up my clutch, ready to go to dinner, but instead, Eliot pulled out a barstool and gestured for me to sit.

“ _L’aperitif_?” he asked, and when I nodded, he gestured to the bartender.

Louis, the bartender, brought over two glasses of champagne and a small tray of canapes. 

“Very nice,” I said, picking up my glass. 

We clinked glasses and took sips. 

“What else do you have planned?” I asked as he reached for one of the canapes.

“Wait ‘n see,” he said with a smirk before downing the bite size morsel.

The anticipation of the evening ahead was intoxicating.

***

After the waiter cleared the salad course, I leaned back to appreciate the effort Eliot had gone to for this night.

“Thank you,” I told him across the small table.

“For what?” he asked, cocking his head.

“All this.” I gestured. 

He waved off the compliment, but I could feel his pleasure at my words. Not only had he reserved a private room in the upscale French restaurant, I’d discovered he’d spoken with the head chef (a friend of a friend) to choose items from the menu and personalize each dish. That attention to detail and awareness of food and wine pairings, along with the cooking he’d done at Miss Ida’s, plus his friendship with the owner and chef of the restaurant in Los Angeles solidified my opinion that there was a vast hidden depth to him of which I was keen to learn more. 

“Are you sure you don’t own a restaurant in Boston?” I teased as the waiter set the cheese board on the table.

He chuckled softly and lifted a small glass of port. “No.”

“But you’d like to?” I probed.

I sensed a bit of resistance to my inquiry, but he simply said, “Maybe.”

Taking a small bite of the cheese, I followed it closely with the port, savoring the marriage of favors. He certainly knew what he was doing, and I wondered where he’d learned, but after the earlier resistance, I didn’t press.

“Dessert next?” I asked with a half-smile. 

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his index finger across his top lip. 

“You offerin’?”

His proposal surprised me.

“I could take my panties off, hop right up on the table if you’d like,” I suggested saucily.

“Ya ain’t wearin’ any panties,” he said, smirking.

I was thrown by his observation, especially since he was correct and I had no idea how he’d known, but before I could respond, the casino host, Samantha slipped into the private room.

“How’s everything going?” she asked brightly.

“It’s very interesting,” I replied, keeping my eyes on Eliot.

His winked at me as he picked up his glass of port.

“Good, good,” Samantha said. “I understand you’re almost finished with dinner, and I wanted to let you know that a spot has opened up at one of the high stakes Baccarat tables.”

“What do you think?” I asked Eliot.

“I always enjoy a good game,” he answered cheekily, and I knew he was talking about more than just cards.

“Looks like we’re up for it,” I said to Samantha, but my eyes were on him the whole time.

“Great!” she said. “I’ll escort you when you’re ready.”

***

Baccarat being a game of complete chance, I knew that neither skill, nor my ability would give us an advantage. And while I didn’t need to walk out of the casino with a large amount of their money, I didn’t want to leave my money there. I wasn’t sure about Eliot’s finances but given it had been his suggestion to start our wager at $5000 each, I guessed he didn’t need the money either.

After an hour and a half at the Baccarat table and down roughly a quarter of our remaining funds, Eliot and I agreed to move on. 

Starting with a $1000 stake each, we took two seats at a Blackjack table. At $100 a hand, we agreed to play ten hands, and then walk away. At the end, we finished up a total of $600, Eliot doing better than I had.

Looking around the casino, I felt Eliot’s interest in the poker tables, and I also felt the pull of a truly competitive game. Before I could ask him what he wanted to do, Samantha appeared beside us.

“Would you like to take a break? I can arrange cocktails,” she offered.

“How ‘bout two seats at the Texas Hold ‘Em tables?” Eliot asked before I could respond.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “This way.”

We followed her to the high stakes area and waited while she arranged our seats. I smiled to myself when she finally seated us at the same table, directly across from each other. We evenly divided the remaining funds on our marker and began.

Five hands in, we were in a head to head battle. After the flop, three other players had folded. The flop had consisted of the 2 of hearts, jack of spades and 9 of clubs.

Confident with my pocket jacks giving me three of a kind, I bet accordingly. Eliot was next, saw my bet, and then raised.

I couldn’t tell what cards he was holding, but I knew he felt secure with them, and guessed he had either pocket 9’s or he was hoping to complete a straight. 

The next player folded, and I saw Eliot’s raise. 

The turn card was a 9 of diamonds. I now had a full house. 

I bet conservatively, feeling him out because I couldn’t get a sense of what he was thinking.

He fingered his chips, then looked up at me and said, “All in.”

I knew then that he had pocket 9’s and with that, four of a kind. Easily, I could have folded and continued the game. I wasn’t so competitive that my ego couldn’t stand to lose, and the plus side to finishing the game was that we could move on to the next thing, which I hoped would involve getting naked.

“Same stakes?” I asked, referring to our earlier bet.

“Yeah,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Pushing my chips in, I revealed my cards.

I felt his disappointment at seeing my full house, but I didn’t understand until I saw his cards. He didn’t have pocket 9’s like I’d thought, instead he had been holding pocket 2’s, giving him only three of a kind.

“Oh,” I said softly. 

The final card was dealt; the river card was the 2 of spades.

Eliot had four of a kind, just not the four of a kind I’d thought. 

Across the table, Eliot winked and grinned the biggest shit-eating grin I’d ever seen. 

***

Back in our suite, I ordered a bottle of Irish whiskey and when I hung up, I looked for Eliot.

Seeing him sitting at the piano, I noticed he had removed his dinner jacket and was resting his fingers on the keys.

“Can you read music?” I asked, taking a seat beside him on the bench.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“This is middle C,” I said, striking the white key. I moved my finger and let him try. “Do you know the C scale?”

“Yeah, um, no flats, no sharps.”

“Right. It’s only white keys,” I said. “Start with your thumb.”

He placed his right hand on the keys, gently hitting them.

“Bring your thumb under for F.”

He played all seven notes.

“Come back down.”

He did as I directed, this time crossing his middle finger over to finish the scale.

“Good,” I told him. “Try this.”

I played the simple tune of _Mary Had A Little Lamb_ , then moved my hand so he could follow suit. He hummed along as he played.

“Now you know how to play the piano,” I told him.

He scoffed but smiled, then asked, “What’d’ya wanna do now?” 

Looking at the baby grand, I wondered how he’d feel about having sex on it, but when I really thought about what I wanted, I surprised myself.

“Honestly?” I asked, and when he nodded, I continued. “I’d love to get out of this dress and soak in that huge tub.”

“Your wish,” he said, picking up my hand and kissing it, “is my command.”

***

I was already soaking in the tub when the doorbell rang but I knew Eliot would get it. A few minutes later, he brought me in a highball glass with a couple of cubes of ice and two fingers of whiskey.

“Thank you.”

“Anythin’ else you want?” 

I pretended to think about it for five seconds before I said, “Company.”

He smiled and nodded but turned and left the large bathroom. When he came back, he had undressed and was carrying two hotel bathrobes and his own highball glass. 

“Should I bring the bottle?” he asked, but I shook my head in response.

Setting the glass beside mine, he stepped into the steaming water and sat down slowly, trying to keep from overflowing the tub.

“Ah,” he said after he leaned back.

“Yep.”

We stayed like that for a long time, the silence only broken by the shifting ice cubes in our glasses. Glancing at him, I saw he had leaned his head back and his eyes were closed. Tuning into his thoughts, I was a little surprised to realize that he wasn’t thinking about anything and how calm his mind was. 

Studying him across the tub, I was struck by the familiarity of the moment. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared a bath with anyone. In the few relationships I’d had in the last fifty years, I’d never allowed, let alone invited, a lover into my bath. Sure, I’d showered with my share, but this was different. This felt different. 

Had it really only been a week since I’d walked into a random bar looking for trouble on a random Tuesday night? And what a week it had been. I felt closer to Eliot than I had to anyone else, apart from my long-time friends, in a very long time. Perhaps it was because we had spent nearly every minute together since we’d met. Whatever it was, there was definitely something between us.

Unable to explain it further to myself, I pushed my thoughts away and focused on the moment instead. I had a very attractive, creative, thoughtful lover in my bath, and I didn’t want to waste another minute on thought, when we could be doing the deed. 

Rubbing my foot against his thigh, I waited until he opened his eyes.

“Need somethin’?” he asked.

I shifted until I could straddle him, his hands automatically coming to rest on my hips.

“Yeah,” I whispered against his lips, “I need something.”

***

After an early workout at the resort gym and a simple breakfast, we were discussing what to do next. Since Eliot had won the last hand of the night, he was in control of the day.

“Do ya want your money back?” he asked, referring to our initial stake. 

“No, not really. Why?” 

“Talked to one of the bellmen,” he started, “and there’s a lot of homeless here, and I was thinking...” he gestured vaguely with his hands.

“Spread the wealth?” I supplied.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Could we do that?” 

“That’s a great idea,” I said, fueled by his excitement. “How much is there?” I hadn’t paid attention last night when we’d finished gaming.

“More than 30 grand.”

I nodded, not surprised, and said. “I think I’ll sell that fancy dress too. I won’t wear it again.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “And that damn jacket!”

***

Three hours later, we had divested ourselves of $34628.76. We split that between 6 different homeless shelters, soup kitchens, family rescues and missions. 

As we got back into the car, I noticed the expression on Eliot’s face and noticed a bittersweet feeling sweep through him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shrugged noncommittally, but said, “Glad we gave all that away, but I wish...”

I nodded, recognizing his sentiment. “You wish there wasn’t a need for it.”

“Yeah,” he said, sliding his sunglasses on. “Sucks.”

“I agree,” I said, putting my seatbelt on.

"You like helping people,” he said, studying me.

“I do,” I said. “I mean, what’s the point of being here if we can’t help other people?”

He seemed to weigh my response for a few seconds, but he never responded. Instead, he started the car and headed north, continuing our adventure.


End file.
